𝐖𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐒, frenchie x reader one shots (the boys)

𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐍

SUMMARY: You've been working with The Boys for a few months now. You are still a little hesitant to open up yourself completely to everyone, but Frenchie knows how to push your walls down or The one time you finally stop to overthink.
WARNINGS: friends to lovers trope, fluff, just two idiots in love, lot of pet names from Frenchie, reader is female. If I missed anything let me know!
WORDCOUNT: 2,6k
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I wrote this in like one hour and a half at 3am, sooo i don't really know if it's bad or good, just let me know <3 ..also, english is not my first language so if anything's a little messy let me know as well so I can improve!
MUSIC I WORKED WITH: Cardigan by Taylor Swift

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

The first time you walked into The Boys' hideout, there was an undeniable tension in the air. Your arrival was met with a mix of stares — mostly skeptical ones from Butcher and M.M., curiosity from Hughie, and an unmistakable spark from Frenchie. You felt it the moment his gaze landed on you, as if he saw something no one else could.

But you didn't need that. You didn't need anyone's help or sympathy, especially not from some smooth-talking French guy who seemed to enjoy getting under your skin. You were a Supe, capable of handling yourself. Sure, you had a past you weren't proud of, but so did they. Frenchie, though? He made a habit of being around you too much, always hovering with those soft, intense eyes, offering help you never asked for.

"Ma jolie, you sure you don't want something to eat?" His voice slid through the air like warm honey as he stood by the kitchenette, chopping vegetables for some meal he was preparing. "You barely touched your food earlier."

You scoffed, not looking up from the old magazine you pretended to read. "I'm fine."

He chuckled, the sound low and teasing, and you could hear the soft clink of a knife against the cutting board. "C'est incroyable," he said, shaking his head with a grin. "You're the only one who could refuse my cooking with such ease. Most people would kill for it."

You rolled your eyes, annoyed that he was always so... nice. "I don't need your cooking, Frenchie. I can take care of myself."

Frenchie came around the corner, leaning against the back of the couch where you sat, a sly smirk tugging at his lips. "You keep saying that, mon ange, but you're still here with us, no?"

You hated the way your heart flipped at the sound of his pet names, how easily they rolled off his tongue like you were someone special to him. "I'm here because Butcher thinks I can help take down Vought. Don't get it twisted."

"Ah oui," he replied, his voice lilting with that ever-present teasing tone. "But maybe there's another reason you stick around, hmm?"

"Like what?" you shot back, turning your head slightly to meet his gaze, feeling a warmth rise in your cheeks.

He leaned in closer, his dark eyes locking onto yours. "Maybe you like having someone who cares about you, even if you won't admit it."

Your breath caught in your throat for a second, and you quickly tore your eyes away, the heat in your chest threatening to spread. You hated that he could get under your skin like that, with just a few words and that infuriating smile.

"I don't need anyone to care about me," you muttered, but the words felt weak even as you said them.

Frenchie didn't say anything, but his presence lingered, warm and comforting despite your best efforts to push him away. Eventually, he moved back to the kitchen, humming softly to himself, and you let out a slow breath, trying to ignore the way your heart still pounded in your chest.